


Rugbrød, Fløtemysost, og Molter

by whatthefoucault



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Breakfast, Coming Out, F/F, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid En Dwi Gast | Grandmaster, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), M/M, Scandinavian Food, Soft Frostmaster, These two are hopelessly in love, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, he's trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: There were some things the Grandmaster needed to know about Loki, and it seemed, from the shift she felt in her bones as she awoke, that this was the morning to address them.





	1. Chapter 1

Midgard had strange ideas about coming out, a mythology of sorts: it was typified, for some reason, as a singular moment in time, a kind of transformation of one's true nature from the secret identity to the fully realised public self. But in practice, it was rarely a singular emergence, a press release blasted galaxy-wide on all channels and in all languages; rather, one left one closet - whether striding confidently or shuffling quietly around the half-open door - only to find oneself stood in another, again and again, always revealing but never quite revealed. It was learning very early on that one's experience of oneself and one's feelings was not universal, not even assumed to be the default, so much so that one would always be assumed to be something other than oneself first and foremost, and another closet door would necessitate breaking open.

Even centuries after one's death, one may find one's bones dragged from a closet by an enterprising historian who recognises some things that past scholars have politely declined to acknowledge in one's personal correspondence... only to be unceremoniously shoved back in by the historian's pompous windbag of an adviser who insists that we must not ascribe contemporary meanings to, for instance, the letters of this prince and his very dearest friend, regardless of how downright pornographic his written descriptions of their ardent encounters may be. Perhaps the situation at hand was neither so flagrant nor so egregious, but nonetheless, Loki had had many years' experience stepping out of wardrobes only to walk directly into an armoire, as it were. At least on Asgard, to its credit, one typically faced significantly fewer questions beginning with “but aren't you really,” or “but does this mean you used to be,” or “but what happens when you,” than on Midgard. Insufferable.

Regardless, there were some things the Grandmaster needed to know about Loki, and it seemed, from the shift she felt in her bones as she awoke, that this was the morning to address them.

The smell of Maillard-reacting sourdough told her that the Grandmaster was already in the kitchen, and that there would be, once again, an abundance of toast for breakfast. This was fine, as long as there was at least butter and/or jam in the fridge, thought Loki. She was fairly sure they had not finished the brown cheese. She shrugged a heavy cardigan over her pyjamas, smoothing her hair into a pleasing arrangement of bed-messy waves.

“Is that you, stardust?” the Grandmaster called into the bedroom. “Of course it's you, we're, like, the only people here.”

“Yes, well,” she said as she shuffled into the kitchen, “you're probably wondering about... this.”

The Grandmaster set the toast tongs on the kitchen counter, regarding her with what seemed to be a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“Well now, this _is_ interesting,” he grinned, greeting her with a kiss on both cheeks. “Ooh la la, look at you. Is that... is that a new cardigan?”

“What? No, I mean thank you,” she flustered, in spite of herself. “But I meant... _this_.”

Loki gestured as best she could to indicate the form she had woken up in that morning.

“Yeah, I was wondering whether it was, uhh, polite to ask,” he said, untwisting the lid of the jam jar with no small amount of force.

“It's really quite simple,” she told him, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Sometimes I'm the god of mischief; other times, I'm the goddess of mischief. See?”

The Grandmaster smiled. “Oh yes of course, of course you are! Okay, I see, let me, uhh, just - “

The Grandmaster closed his eyes, and with a little shake of her shoulders and a puff of gold dust, she was... very much still the Grandmaster.

“Ta-daa,” she said, waving her hands. “Now we match.”

Loki let out a heavy sigh. Not that she would normally give much thought at all as to the impressions or opinions of other people - or at the very least, she tried not to - but this was the Grandmaster, and the Grandmaster's esteem and understanding, it _mattered_ to her. Okay, she thought.

“Look, I need you to understand that this isn't a party trick,” she said, folding and unfolding her hands. The Grandmaster carefully plucked the toast slices from the toaster, and set them onto two plates. “It's not a disguise, or a costume, and it's not about sex. It's just... sometimes it's me.”

“Oh stardust, sweetie no, I, I know, I get it,” the Grandmaster assured her, clasping Loki's hands in her own. “I mean, this? Well, it _has_ come in handy now and again when the mood struck at the right time and I, well... sometimes it means I can get away with entering chess tournaments I've been banned from, but…”

“I'd be lying if I said it didn't have its uses,” replied Loki. She drew a dagger from its hiding place, pulling a thin curl of sweet brown cheese from the block, and setting it atop the toast to soften. “But that's not why - ”

“No, of course it isn't,” the Grandmaster told her, and Loki knew she understood. “I can see that. I get it. We match. It’s nice”

“Thank you, sunshine.” Loki leaned in, almost tentatively, and kissed the Grandmaster, revelling in the warmth she found there, the familiar golden glow between them: a powerful magic. “Brunost?”

“Oh, honey,” replied the Grandmaster. “Have I ever said no to cheese?”

“Ask a stupid question,” conceded Loki, cutting another slice from the block. “Jam?”

The Grandmaster nodded with great enthusiasm. “Sometimes, you know, I've gone years being one form or another, and then one day it just, uhh…”

“Chafes a bit,” added Loki, dolloping a generous blob of cloudberry jam on their respective toasts.

“Yep, like a pair of sandals,” the Grandmaster agreed, “that fit perfectly, uhh, really comfortable, but then one day they just start to, to rub funny against your little toe, so you swap them out for another pair of sandals, and... ahhhhhhhhhhhh. You know?”

“Oh, I know,” Loki grinned, taking a bite of toast, allowing herself a moment to appreciate the blissful confluence of crisp and fluffy toast with the meltingly thin curls of fudgy cheese, and the slip of sharp, sweet jam.

“This one day, years ago, I wake up in the morning and I'm feeling, you know, very sort of Grandmistressy energies that day, and I so I change into something, uhh, a little more comfortable,” said the Grandmaster, dramatically indicating her lovely figure. “Well, that's nothing new to me, of course, but the thing is, you see, Topaz, bless her, she'd never met _this_ , uhh, me before, and she comes in, there's some kind of, I don't know, some kind of little problem with the gladiators or something, but she comes in to tell me about it, sees me looking like this, just, casually fondling a large handful of my, uhh, very expensive jewellery, and oh boy, the next thing I know, she's got her, her melt stick out, right here, inches away from me and she's shouting, uhh, who are you and, and what have you done with the Grandmaster? And I'm just like hey, hey. Hey. Hey, cool your jets honey, you know, Topaz, it's me, and she's all, oh yeah? Prove it. So, I tell her something nobody else knows about her. And she just gives me this, uhh, this funny little nod and she says... ok.”

“What did you say?” asked Loki, still chewing her toast.

The Grandmaster was visibly appalled. “I said it was a secret!”

Loki batted her eyelashes. The Grandmaster acquiesced with a sigh, her shoulders dropped.

“Okay, but don't tell her I told you or she'll melt me and, uhh, I may be banished from Death's domain, but I don't want to spend eternity... melted.”

“You have my word,” Loki promised her.

“Okay, okay,” said the Grandmaster. “Topaz, uhh…”

The Grandmaster leaned closer, and whispered in Loki's ear. It was all she could do to keep from falling off of her chair with laughter.

“Oh, she _will_ kill both of us if she knows I know,” Loki agreed, clutching her sides, shaking with giggles. “Thank you, sunshine.”

The Grandmaster laughed with her, dabbing away the joyful tears from the corners of her eyes, her smile unguarded and pure. It was the most beautiful smile that Loki had ever known.

Loki felt she had so much to be grateful for.

“Well, my beautiful stardust, how should we spend the rest of the day?” asked the Grandmaster, tenderly brushing a crumb of toast from Loki's mouth. She managed the swiftest, softest kiss of the Grandmaster's fingertip before the hand returned to the Grandmaster's own breakfast. “A game of chess in the park, have some lunch... maybe run, uhh, a little con in the afternoon?”

“There's a hotel uptown that has a _gorgeous_ piano just sitting there in the lobby,” replied Loki, “that I think would fit perfectly in the living room.”

“And you're not suggesting we ask them where they bought it,” said the Grandmaster, polishing off the last of her toast.

Loki grinned. “Goodness, no.”

“Good.” The Grandmaster slung an arm around Loki's shoulders, beaming like a glittering sunrise. “I'd have expected nothing less from the goddess of mischief.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned on continuing this story, but then the Grandmaster tapped me on the shoulder and was like "hey hey hey, I just thought, uhh, maybe you'd also like to mention that this happened," and I was like yep.

Jeez, Loki was pretty, thought the Grandmaster. She was pretty when she was a lady, she was pretty when she was a gentleman, she was pretty when she was none of the above, she was pretty when she was disguised as a snake - she was just, just the prettiest. She radiated a powerful, beautiful magic. There she was, sat across from the Grandmaster at their little table where the café's terrace met the sidewalk, spanking a violent blob of ketchup out of the impractical glass bottle onto her scrambled eggs. Pretty.

“Uhh, you know, umm, earlier,” the Grandmaster began, “when you said it wasn't, uhh, a sex thing.”

“Mm-hmm,” nodded Loki, chewing on a generous mouthful of eggs.

“I was just, uhh,” said the Grandmaster, “well, but can we still have sex?”

Loki squinted at her. “Yeah,” she said. Ask a stupid question, supposed the Grandmaster.

The Grandmaster sipped her mimosa. It was pleasantly citric.

“I mean, not _right_ now, but.” The Grandmaster stretched her leg under the table, caressing Loki's slim, strong ankle with her sandaled foot. “Maybe later. Break in our new piano?”

“My sunshine, I can't think of anything I'd rather - oh shit, don't look now,” startled Loki, lowering herself out of view. “It's only my idiot brother. Perhaps he won't see us.”

“Sister!” Sparkles shouted from across the room with an enthusiastic wave, bounding towards them like an enthusiastic puppy, with his quiet friend in tow.

“Well met, brother,” said Loki, through gritted teeth. “Fancy bumping into you here.”

“What a wonderful coincidence! We were just about to sit down to a meal. Perhaps Banner and I can join you and your friend,” said Sparkles, clapping his sister affectionately on the shoulder before shuffling a nearby unoccupied table to join their own.

“Yeah, can we maybe pencil something in for later?” asked Loki. “We're... kind of on a date today.”

“This is... your date,” he nodded.

“Yeah,” said Loki. The Grandmaster smiled from behind her mimosa. She took another long sip.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Did... did something happen with you and the Grandmaster? Because if he hurt you in any way I swear I'll - ”

“Uhh, Thor, that's the - ” his friend attempted to interject.

“Though, just between the two of us, I'm glad to see you setting your standards a little higher, I mean, he was a bit - ”

The Grandmaster wondered how deep should she let him dig himself.

“Hey, sparkles,” she said at last, with a deadpan smile. “Hey there, uhh, champ.”

“Oh,” he said, turning about the same shade as the ketchup bottle. “Well met, umm, Mrs. Grandmaster.”

“Nice to see you again too, honey,” chuckled the Grandmaster. She handed him the last generous slug of her drink. “Here. I think maybe you need this more than I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come say hello [on tumblr!](http://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com) And here's [a link to the art, for your liking and reblogging pleasure](http://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com/post/174894982526/we-match-its-nice-rugbr%C3%B8d-fl%C3%B8temysost-og).
> 
> (Also, I need you to know that [this excellent bit of photoshop happened in the making of this story.](https://i.imgur.com/ytDSIkq.jpg))


End file.
